


Some Like it Hot, Some Do Not

by RadScavver



Series: Steve Harrington, Demogorgon-Whisperer [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Heat Stroke, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadScavver/pseuds/RadScavver
Summary: It's the summer of 1984, and Hawkins is in the middle of a pretty severe heatwave. This has some surprising consequences for the Harrington household.
Relationships: Demogorgon & Steve Harrington
Series: Steve Harrington, Demogorgon-Whisperer [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1609186
Comments: 9
Kudos: 85





	Some Like it Hot, Some Do Not

Summers in Hawkins had always been pretty miserable. Most people tend to flock to the public pool, or linger around the few lakes scattered throughout the county in hopes of catching some sort of cool breeze. Kids really didn’t care, too hyped up about not having school and choking at the bit for freedom. Everyone careless and carefree in equal measure because it’s _summertime_. Normally, Steve would be happily enjoying his own pool.

But, that was before.

Before Barb, and nightmares, and-

_“SSSSS-EEEEVE.”_

Steve’s eyes roll, but he can’t help the little smirk curling his lips.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he calls. Something prickles in his throat, has him fighting off a cough. “Keep your pants on!”

Further into the Harrington house, hidden away in the deepest shadows It could possibly find, the Demogorgon is almost a pathetic sight. Those gangly arms and powerful legs all tucked up tight in a ball. A threadbare sheet draped over it. Hell, if it weren’t for the fact that Its easily half his height even as bunched up as it is, Steve would think it was a little kid playing ghost.

Something sticky drags down his back. He frowns and shifts, trying to alleviate the phantom drag against his skin. It doesn’t do much except make a sharp throb in his his temple.

Crouching down before the sad looking tent that is Wiggles, Steve carefully reaches out to lift the shroud. “Hey, you okay, buddy?”

He flinches. Something’s very, _very_ wrong.

“Holy crap, Wiggles, Wiggs, man, why are you so hot?” He can feel frantic energy building deep in his chest. “Jesus Christ, why are you dry?”

Because It is. Instead of the sleek dolphin-in-water look he’s grown so used to, that skin is the unsettling pale grey of too dry concrete. His fingers tingle like he’s scraping along sandpaper when he carefully strokes at the shivering petals. Gurgling, Wiggles jutters back from the touch, too slow and clumsy to really escape. But Steve yanks away regardless.

“Okay, uh, okay. Okay.” He’s babbling, he knows that. “Okay! Yeah, something’s weird.”

Shoving a hand into his hair, Steve tries to think. Who can he call to help him with this? Who would even _know_ what to do here? Is Wiggles sick? Can alien monsters even get sick? Why is _his_ skin so tight?

Half-shouting at himself, he stalks off to the kitchen for the phone. He stops himself midway to fling his hands in the air.

“Who the hell are you going to call, Harrington?” His fingers are back in his hair again, nails digging into his scalp. When did he do that? Why is he so _hot_? “What the hell am I going to do?”

God, it would be so much better if he wasn’t so warm. His shirt’s practically pasted to his back, damp and clingy and chafing against him. Biting against skin suddenly too cold and sensitive. Like Wiggles’ horrifying teeth.

_“SSS-EEEEVE…”_

_Wiggles._

_“SSSSSSS-VE. HUR’ SSSS-VE.”_

Staggering back toward that miserable shivering bundle, Steve swallows around what feels like a damn hedgehog lodged in his throat. The room’s twisting. It kinda looks like everything’s kind of...dripping around the edges. Oozing and smudging. Something dark, tendril-like, crawls down the walls.

“Oh my God,” he groans; his voice seems too loud and bounces around like they’re in a cave.

He flails a hand out, smacking roughly into the wall as he tries to catch his balance, and lets himself collapse against it.

“Why’s it so hot?” His tongue feels thick, cottony. It catches awkwardly in his mouth. “W’ggles? Dude, wha-?”

There’s a huge shadow lurching toward him. Big ugly flowers dance in waves, getting bigger and bigger.

_“SSSSSSS-”_

Steve sinks down the wall, his shirt yanking up and catching in the hollow under his chin. He chokes. There’s something scratching at his belly. The muscles spasm just under the skin, trembling, trying to draw away from rough scruffing touch. His eyes try to focus on the shadow. Or...cloud? It’s too pale to really be a shadow. Doesn’t feel like one though.

“Think I’mma hurl,” Steve whines, slumping forward.

Whatever he smacks into scrapes his face. Gagging, Steve weakly batters his hands at it. There’s too much heat radiating off of it. Feels too much like his first time being drunk, like smashing his head into the tacky statuary and baking against sun-warmed stone. Like being forgotten and waking up with skin so dry it split when he tried to call out.

His parents hadn’t even checked for him before they’d left.

A full-body retch hits him like a bolt. He coughs, spits, cries. There’s weak rumbling under him. Maybe he’s just shaking?

“ _SSSS...SS-EEEE…”_

No, no, it’s Wiggles. Huge, terrifying Wiggles is quaking so hard it’s making Steve’s teeth rattle. Almost like Its sobbing.

“No, n-no, buddy, hey, m’here,” Steve whimpers, “see? See, here.”

He wraps an arm clumsily around the creature’s heaving back. Teeth grinding, he tries not to howl. His arm’s been peeled. That’s the only way he can explain the razor sharp searing pain radiating from where he’s touching Wiggles. But he will not let go. Won’t forget Wiggles. Not even as those pitch black snakes writhing on the walls start reaching for them. They’re so close and he knows they’ll be hot. Steve closes his eyes and clings tighter to Wiggles.

“M’here, gotcha. Not g’nna leave. Promise.”

*

He surges to wakefulness with a gasp. It pulls deep in his belly, bringing something with it that hooks onto the back of his tongue. Clawing for something- _anything_ -sturdy, he tries to sit up before it chokes him.

“Easy, sweetie, easy. I’ve got you.”

Soft, warm bands close around his torso, soothing against skin that feels raw. Oh God, he’s _freezing_.

“Come on, up you get. Let’s get you out of there.”

Blinking, his head lolls around. He just see the side of a face. One big soft eye, a sharp nose, a thin mouth. Fluffy dark hair. Tired.

“M...Miss Byers?”

She turns her face to him completely, offers up a gentle little grin.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” she coos, shifting him carefully against her side. How is she carrying so much of his weight? “How’re you feeling?”

It takes a moment for him to really take stock of how he’s feeling. Something’s numb. Fuzzy? Dry ice steaming up his brain, mist filling his skull. There’s a taste like...like mud? No. No, it’s sort of how fertilizer smells. A strange chemical tang coating his mouth, but he doesn’t really taste it if he doesn’t move his tongue too much.

With another hazy blink, Steve whines, “Cold.”

She gives him a look, all big wet eyes and her mouth bending strangely.

“Steve, honey, why didn’t you call anyone?” That doesn’t make sense.

“Can’t use the phone,”he grunts, trying not to stumble when his buzzing feet his something much less firm. He can make out an ocean of swaying stripes. His bedroom? He’d been downstairs, though. “Bugs.”

She makes a noise that sounds like a grumpy Demogorgan. It always makes that noise when Steve gripes about the animal carcasses that get left out by the pool. Or when It has to leave that nest during the day.

“Wiggles okay?” he asks. “Was sick, I think?”

Joyce sighs deeply, but she’s careful as she levers him down onto his bed, “Steve, how long has Wiggles been sick?”

“Don’t know. Been weird for a few days, maybe?”

“Okay, you just get some rest. Can you do that for me?”

He’s determined to figure out how Wiggles is, but his body won’t work with him. Joyce fades away into the nauseating waves of plaid. Black snakes sway from the ceiling, and Steve watches them until they spread like a storm.

*

The next time he comes to, things are better. He’s in bed, on top of the covers, in his underwear and covered by a damp towel for some reason. There’s a little bit of coral light bleeding past the curtains. When he tries to look for his alarm clock, needing to know what time it is, discomfort zaps him all over. He groans loudly enough to make hurt lance through his head. There’s a pinch in his ears, the slightest tweak of a spider bite.

“Jesus, Wiggles, not now,” he whimpers, pressing his palms tight against his eyes.

Sudden awareness streaks up his spine. Skittering little centipede legs. Shoving himself up, blinking against the way his eyes smear everything like watercolor, Steve tries for the door. He doesn’t know, has no idea, how he’s upstairs, but Wiggles had been sick. The monster had literally been hiding under him like a frightened kitten. Had been _crying_ in his arms.

“Wiggles,” he calls, pressing his hand to his head as his voice ratchets up the pain to an eight, “where you at, buddy? Wiggs?”

There’s tip-tapping here and there. Little skips of pressure all around his body. He thinks of those tiny bugs that skim on the pool sometimes, but he doesn’t know if they’re as cold as these little brushes.

“Wiggs, come on!”

“Kid, why the hell are you up?”

Steve stares down the stairs, wavering precariously from where he’s half-hanging off the handrail. That familiar brown uniform is stark in his house.

“Hopper? Why...why are you here?”

The chief sighs, deep and put upon, before tromping up to help Steve the rest of the way down. He even goes so far as to lead the stumbling teen into the kitchen.

Planting Steve against the wall, Hopper stares him in the eye and says, “Stay. Right here. You got that?”

Steve nods, then groans when it makes his stomach flop. He closes his eyes to the sight of Hopper fumbling about the kitchen. They open again when something cold is shoved into his chest. Staring down at a glass of water, Steve can only blink stupidly at it.

“Take the damn thing, kid. And sit down before you pass out!”

He sluggishly obeys, collapsing into a tall low-backed chair tucked under the kitchen island. The water is a balm he hadn't realized he needed. Once he’s chugged the glass, Hopper speaks again.

“You’re damn lucky El’s got a soft spot for you,” he growls, arms crossed tight over his barrel chest. “It’s the only reason anyone got here before your goddamn brain melted out your ears.”

“W-What?” Steve’s heart thumps rapidly, oddly. An offbeat tap dance against his sternum. “I don’t-”

“How long’s your pet alien been sick, huh? Didn’t think to tell anyone that you were getting heat stroke?”

“No, we...we were inside. The air was on.”

Hopper curses bitterly, rubbing one meaty hand rough against his mouth. “There’ve been brown outs. I take it you haven’t been listening to the news then, because they’ve been rolling through half of Indiana thanks to the damn heatwave.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ Guess your parasite doesn’t handle being hot too well. I got a call from Joyce because El sent out a damn ‘Code Red’ or something to their house. Thankfully, she and Jonathan were both home and responded.”

Steve drops his gaze to the tacky counter-top. He hears another gusty sigh.

“Harrington...kid, why didn’t you call anyone?”

He lays down to press his head to the counter. Something tickles at his cheek, feels like something fragile and smooth. Gossamer, maybe? It’s actually sort of nice. Who knew Wiggles knew how to be comforting?

Swallowing, throat clicking softly, Steve murmurs, “They’ve got the phones tapped. Can’t really call the vet for a giant murder pet.”

Another thought flickers into his mind and Steve scrunches his nose.

“And don’t call Wiggles a parasite. That’s mean, man.”

Hopper makes a disgruntled sort of _harrumph_.

*

Thankfully, the feverish pitch in the weather broke on the back of a storm. It rolled through Hawkins with all the fury of those old gods in the history books. Took down trees, power lines, and swept the mugginess out of the state.

Wiggles didn’t come back to their world for another few days after the storm was through. Made for a weird time since Steve hadn’t really been without his enormous house-guest for longer than a few hours since that fateful November night. He hadn’t really expected how much he would miss having the _Demogorgon_ around until it was gone for over a week.

Although, that time wasn’t completely wasted just worrying about Wiggles’ whereabouts. Steve had gotten together with the Byers, Hop, and El to do some brainstorming. They all wanted to figure out what had gone wrong and kick-started the near-death situation. Theories were tossed around left and right until little Will Byers suddenly jumped up like he’d been shocked.

“Cold! The Upside Down was cold!”

His shout had reminded Steve of the chills he’d felt. How bone deep the cold had been. It’d been easy to add things up after that.

With help from Jonathan and Dustin, of all people, Steve got to work. They crafted a sort of meat locker set up in his basement. It took the better part of a week to get it all operational, but he was proud of the outcome. And Wiggles sure as hell enjoyed it.

Speaking of…

“Hey, you ever going to come up and say ‘hi’ to me?” Steve calls.

He’s washing dishes that’d been left in the sink from the night before. It’s dark out, late enough that the sun’s left a bare smudge of plummy purple in the sky, but Wiggles still hasn’t made an appearance. He tilts his head, listens for some noise from the basement.

It’s not until he’s reaching for the hand towel that he gets a response.

_“REST.”_

Rubbing his hands dry, Steve turns to face the hulking figure. He arches a brow disapprovingly, even as he slaps the cloth over his shoulder.

“You’ve been hiding out for like two weeks,” he chides, planting his hands on his hips.

Wiggles pads toward him, lazy on all fours. Its bulbous head shoves into Steve’s gut and the beast stops like that. Huffing from the blow, he rests one hand on the sleek skin. While Its flesh hasn’t gotten back the slickness of before, there’s still a mild dampness beneath his palm. Just enough to make It feel sort of clammy.

Steve doesn’t fight the urge to stroke a hand down a prominent spine.

“Still not feeling back to normal yet, huh?” His question is soft, careful not to break the peaceful churring Wiggles’ making. “Sorry, you can go back down. Didn’t mean to wake you, bud.”

The petals flutter against his stomach and he bites back a giggle. The damn things are just shy of a tickle. But he can’t really escape them as Wiggles shoves further into him. Steve decides to just give in; sinks to the floor as the relentless push nearly knocks him off balance. With a flute-y chirp and the feeling of bumblebee fuzz on the apples of his cheeks, Steve leans back against the cabinets.

He’s surprised by how content he is with the weight of a purring Demogorgon in his lap.

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually inspired by some things I noticed between seasons one and two. So, I bounced my theories off of my inspiration-buddy and here we are!


End file.
